


Bucky and the Alchemiste

by TheCityLightShow



Series: Imagine Tony and Bucky Prompts [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (kinda), Alchemist Tony, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 06:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10299701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCityLightShow/pseuds/TheCityLightShow
Summary: Bucky’s lived in the village all his life.It’s not big, though it’s not tiny – he’d call it a town, but it’s cute and quaint; town seems too bulky, too busy to describe where he lives. There’s a few shops, they’re surrounded by woodland, and there’s a river at the bottom of the valley.There’s also the mansion on the hill.People rarely go up to visit the mansion - in fact, Bucky's never heard of it. It’s not out of fear, of course it’s not – except when it is, and the village does like to gossip about the family said to live there, once. A mother taken before her time, a father too grief-stricken to be much of anything, and a son now left alone. There are moments in which Bucky wonders what life must be like so alone.He’s probably about to find out.





	1. Alchemy

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the longest thing I've ever written* and it's currently being posted first on [imaginetonyandbucky](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr!! This will be updated when I get a moment, so please bear with me! 
> 
> For the prompt: _Tony is the mysterious figure that live in the mansion on the outskirt of town. There are a lot of rumors from the other people in town, but no one really knows a lot of about him, or really see him that much. There have been sightings at night, but no one is really sure. Until one day, there is a job postings, and who is it from? None other than said mysterious figure. The posting is vague, but who needs a job desperately? Bucky. Is Tony just a secretive loner, or is there more to the story? [Anon]_
> 
>  
> 
>   
> *and posted, there are things in the works... supposedly.  
> 

alchemy /ˈalkɪmi/

_noun_

‘the medieval forerunner of chemistry, concerned with the transmutation of matter, in particular with attempts to convert base metals into gold or find a universal elixir’ or ‘a seemingly magical process of transformation, creation, or combination’

_-_

 

Bucky’s lived in the village all his life.

 

It’s not big, though it’s not tiny – he’d call it a town, but it’s cute and quaint; town seems too bulky, too busy to describe where he lives. There’s a few shops – a baker’s, a butcher’s, the farmer’s wife’s stall, the book shop and several others Bucky rarely sets foot in, some empty and full of dust – a large square and then winding roads of tiny cottages, all tucked together and covered in flowers. The roads are cobbled and few own horses, they’re surrounded by woodland and there’s a river not far down the path at the bottom of the valley.

There’s also the mansion on the hill.

It’s dark and imposing from the village – a large black shape that sticks out on the skyline above. There’s a single solitary path that leads up the hill, directly to the old building. It’s thin and it’s difficult as the hillside grows steeper, and more treacherous. People rarely take that path, and no one ever takes it twice. It’s not out of fear, of course it’s not – except when it is, and the village does like to gossip about the family said to live there, once. A mother taken before her time, a father too grief-stricken to be much of anything, and a son now left alone.

The son never comes down to the village, is never seen – some claim to have seen him by the church in the dead of night, and others think it’s him when they set foot down in their stores come morning, to find few supplies missing and a handful of coins in their place. No one _knows_ though, and there are moments in which Bucky wonders what life must be like so alone.

He’s probably about to find out.

Two days ago, there was an ad in the little village paper – unusual, given ads are only worth something when they’re put in the paper delivered from the city at the behest of the King – asking for a research assistant for one Anthony Stark. Many had discussed the prospect; the job came with food and board, after all, but too many were put off by the address, the mansion on the hill.

So here was Bucky, spending the day of the anniversary of his Ma’s death climbing up the steep path, still one arm down from his short service to the King, and hoping beyond hope he might be of some use to Stark.

 

Dawn had settled comfortably over the valley by the time he reached the wrought iron gates, and for a moment Bucky was certain he’d have to climb them, when they swung open with nary a creak. He took a deep breath, before straightening his back and walking as confidently as he could into the overgrown grounds. There might have been life in this garden once – Bucky could see how much beauty it might’ve once held – but now there were only what seemed to be miles and miles of weeds. The path between the gate and the door of the house were thankfully well trodden, and Bucky swallowed as he paused before the door. He knocked, just once, and the door swung open.

No one appeared in the gap, and Bucky cautiously stepped inside.

“Hello?” he called out, and his voice echoed eerily in the muffled silence of the house. The floor of the entryway was stone, and each step Bucky took echoed. The first thing that struck Bucky was the surprising cleanliness – there seemed to be no dust upon the surfaces – and how beautiful the interior of the house was. A grand staircase swept upwards in front of him, and split to curve up to the landing above his head. There were large windows, through which the fall sunlight streamed, and the candles were all lit, a soft glow that dispelled some of the cold the walk up had settled into Bucky.

The second thing that struck him were the mirrors. There must’ve been seven or eight in the hallway alone, and looking around Bucky could see the frequency didn’t wane. Bucky filed away to ask his hopefully new employer about them if he could, and placed his bag down by an empty umbrella stand, and shut the door. He tugged at his pinned-up sleeve for a moment, before running his hand through his hair and stepping further into the mansion.

 “I’m here about the job?” Bucky tried and this time a reply came.

“Oh, young sir will be pleased.” The voice was amused and posh, and Bucky whirled, trying to find its owner. He caught a glance in one of the mirrors, but it was only upon a double-take that Bucky realised it was not him. The face of a kind old man was lit up as if by blue flame in the glass, backed only by black. Bucky felt his jaw drop, but was too concerned by the person _in the mirror_ to close it. “Oh, do forgive me, it has been so long since there was another about the house,” the man smiled kindly, “I am Edwin Jarvis, and I am- was- the butler of this house.”

“James, Barnes. But most people call me Bucky.” Bucky replied in kind, smiling and nodding and trying not to be weirded out by the whole thing when the mirror – Edwin – nodded his greetings.

“If you’ll follow me, Mr Barnes, I’ll take you to meet Anthony. I’m sure you’ll get along just fine.” Edwin nodded his head to the right.

“Wait- do I not need to be interviewed first, or?” Bucky asked, glancing sideways at the mirror as he began to walk.

“I’m sure young sir will have questions, but for the most part, consider yourself hired.” Edwin suddenly disappeared and reappeared in a mirror nearby a door on the right-hand side, nestled under the staircase, and Bucky stalled in his step before carrying on smoothly. Edwin didn’t engage him truly again, only switched between mirrors and enquired if the light was enough as he led Bucky down the narrow, doorless corridor, to a spiral staircase that lead under the mansion at the end of it. As Bucky approached the bottom of the staircase, he could hear voices growing louder and louder with each step he took. One was more familiar in accent than the other, which lilted slightly, like the owner was from across the water someplace.

“… are you serious- why would you-?” the first man spoke, his accent not local, but still from the same country, only to be cut off by the second man.

“For _science_ Brucie-bear!” The man spoke with fondness and excitement.

“Tony…” and that was a woman’s voice, accented like the people he’d been asked to fight against for the King, but her exasperation was fond and the second man, Tony – _Anthony?_ – answered her.

“-and magic, yes I know, but magic _is_ science, and you can’t say shit, ballerina, because you’ve never _done_ magic-“ Bucky stifled a laugh as he came to stand in front of a door at last – it was more apparent now to Bucky that the accent was slightly Italian, that the first man was probably from old Ohio. Edwin smiled at him from the mirror by the door, before winking and disappearing, leaving the mirror normal once more.

“Master Anthony, you have a visitor outside the door.” The man told the occupants of the room, and Bucky was almost alarmed by the sudden amount of clatter that followed his words, while Anthony- Tony- protested.

“Jarvis, I told you, I don’t _need_ an assistant!” Bucky would’ve been hurt, but the protest wasn’t personal, and was only half-hearted Bucky could tell.

“I am certain you will like the young man who has come, young sir. All I ask is that you give him a chance.” Edwin was obviously also aware that the protest wasn’t all it could’ve been.

“…Only because it’s you, Jarvis.”

Edwin reappeared in the mirror then, mouthed ‘knock’ and then disappeared as quick as he’d come. Bucky steadied himself a moment, and raised his hand to knock. Three beats against the heavy wood, and another one before the door was yanked open. Bucky found himself face-to-face with Tony, floundering for words.

Tony was _gorgeous_. Deep olive skin, big dark eyes and a mess of dark hair, he couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen. He wore the signature robes of an alchemist – but this one was burnt in places and the sleeves were rolled up and then stitched up, and Bucky could see in places that the runes had been re-sewn. He had oil on his face, a litany of scars across his hands and tattoos curling down his arms from under the robes, and Bucky felt his mouth run dry. Box after box the guy ticked for Bucky, and he looked back up at pink lips just as his tongue flicked out to wet them.

Tony gave Bucky an appreciative sweeping glance before looking up with a grin and a spark in his eye that gave Bucky cause to stand just a little straighter. “You never said he came with a project, Jarvis.” Tony quipped over his shoulder as he stepped aside with a swish of his robes to allow Bucky entrance into what was evidently a workshop of some kind.

“Project?” Bucky asked, only a little wary of the reply.

“Your arm.” Tony replied, by way of explanation, and Tony must’ve seen the colour drain from his face, because he barrelled on before Bucky could say anything. “I want to build you one, I know I can do it, a little engineering and magic never hurt anyone.” Tony was grinning, and Bucky could see no trace of a lie on his face. “Look-“

“-Bucky-“

“-Bucky, if you want to work with me, you’ve got to let me build you one.” Bucky hesitated, “I can’t have a one-handed assistant.” Tony smiled, nothing malicious, and Bucky needed the job too much to refuse – and having his arm back would be nice. He nodded hesitantly and Tony grinned. “Do you have any experience?” Tony asked, and Bucky smiled.

“Some, I guess. My best friend’s Ma was an alchemist who did most’ve the healing in town. I used to help her out as best I could before I joined the Guard.” Bucky told him, and Tony nodded.

“Well, healing alchemy is a bit different to the kind I specialise in, and very different to engineering…” he trailed off in a string of muttering, wandering over to his desk to jot something down. He glanced over his shoulder though, and smiled with a quick gesture for Bucky to come into the room. Bucky was now able to look around the room – and was startled to find that there were no people, but also no windows or doors from which they could have left. “You’ll pick up the magical elements of what I do, easy enough.” Tony told him.

“I’ll try.” Bucky promised him – because if he didn’t have this job, he wasn’t sure he’d have anything to go back to. “Uh- where- there were voices, earlier?” Bucky asked carefully.

To Tony’s credit he gave no outward sign of panic that Bucky could see, but his face was turned away. He waved a hand and muttered something about how Bucky would probably meet them later, but gave no explanation for where the people might’ve gone. Tony, Bucky could see as he moved closer, was drawing up a contract, and the knot in Bucky’s chest loosened somewhat.

He took the opportunity to glance around the room, and was reminded of a small passage from a book he’d once read. The room was large, with several furnaces – and the lack of windows explained the scent of smoke that hung in the air even though they were barely lit. There was a bookcase, and something bubbling in the hearth, and jar after jar of both of building parts and animal parts, plant husks and tiny bottle next to big bottle. It was a jumbled mess, only just clinging to the term organised chaos, with parts and papers scattered across worktop and floor alike. Like the book had said; the air smelled of a limited life expectancy.

Except, _except_ , the kind that set Bucky alight, and now the nerves were gone, Bucky was excited to get started. He’d always thought he’d die in the army – had been certain he was going to die in the moments of losing his arm – and now he was here, on what felt like borrowed time, in a basement workshop that smelt of creation.

Within the workshop, the only things that were clean – and therefore seemed quite greatly out of place – alongside the various mirrors, were six objects. First, was an old grandfather clock, simplistic and yet stunning, tucked against the wall near Tony’s desk. The rest sat upon a silver tray – and the tray was itself quite dull and dusty – a candle in an elegant dark silver holder, a salt pot carved from dark wood and a pepper pot carved from light, a ceramic bird (of all things?) and a teapot in intricate golden design, yet no teacup.

“Shall we?”

Bucky was drawn from staring at the objects by Tony’s question, and he turned to find the alchemist holding out a pen to him. Bucky took the pen, and leant over the table to read over the contract Tony had written up. It granted Bucky the choice to leave the employment at any time, with bed and food 7 days a week, with a bonus payment at least once a month for his own wares; he just had to be aware that his services might be required at any moment, and may include tasks such as testing potions or equipment, cleaning, modelling ( _what the hell?_ ), background noise, nodding for a few hours, and passing things over. Bucky blinked at the ridiculous list, but signed his name awkwardly on the line. Tony plucked the pen away and signed his name on the line below, before shoving the offending paper into a drawer.

The action was surprisingly violent for such a simple thing, and Bucky startled at it, suddenly nervous as Tony stared darkly down at the drawer for a moment. He didn’t glance up at Bucky, not even once, as he moved back into the workshop. “Jarvis will show you to a room, we’ll start tomorrow.”

And with that, Bucky was dismissed.


	2. Isolated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky starts to explore the mansion...

isolated /ˈʌɪsəleɪtɪd/

_adjective_

‘far away from other places, buildings, or people; remote’, ‘having minimal contact or little in common with others’ or ‘single; exceptional’

_-_

 

The mansion was _huge_. Room after room, all thick rugs and polished stone, elegant dark wood furniture and mirror after mirror for Edwin’s use. Edwin had indeed shown him to a room, on the upper floor in the other wing of the house, but then told him that he was free to explore as he pleased. Bucky thanked him, and as Edwin disappeared from the mirror sat down on his new bed, bag at his feet. The room was large and sparsely furnished, but Bucky was thankful for it – a bed, dresser, desk and chair were almost _more_ than he needed, with rugs, a fireplace and a bedside table being excessive to anything he’d had before. After his time in the guard, simply having a room to himself felt like a luxury.

His worldly possessions were packed into his bag, and they were few. The singular photo that had been taken of the Barnes family – his sisters both happy, his parents both alive, and himself intact and childish still – a few of the small paintings Steve had done for him, his dagger from his guard days, the few books that were his, the last pieces of his family’s hand-me-downs, three complete outfits (one of which was his Sunday best), and the journal he’d kept since his Ma had died. He left them in the bag and tugged off his boots, hung his navy-blue coat on the back of the door and padded out into the corridor in sock-clad feet.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find in the mansion – what sort of rooms rich people had he could only dream of – but what shocked him was the complete lack of- anything. He wouldn’t have noticed that the walls and furniture were partially faded from years in the light had it not been for the dark spots where paintings had been taken down, ornaments packed away. Discounting the mirrors placed up and down the hallways, beside doors and desks and windows in each room, there was very little to make the mansion a home.

There was _one_ photo, though. It was hung in a study in Bucky’s wing. (He was going to refer to it as his, because so far, all the life seemed to be held in Tony’s workshop.)  There was no evidence of anyone other than Tony, except- except for the photo. It was fantastically done, seemingly capturing a random moment instead of the usual staging a photo required – given they costed so much and took so much time – and was crammed with people.

In the centre, they were clearly Tony and his parents – the man was a spitting image of his father at a glance, but Bucky could see his mother in his eyes and the softness of his face. The two of them were half-hugging their son, who was laughing with his eyes shut in the centre, and Bucky didn’t find it hard to imagine that they were holding hands behind Tony in the photo. There were other kids in the photo, too, clearly not related by blood, but for all they were tugged into the hug may as well been. Three girls, and three boys, all trying to hug Tony in some-way. Each of the kids looked as happy as Tony did there, and Bucky gave into his curiosity to move around the desk and read the plaque on the frame. 

“ _Lord and Lady Stark, their Heir, Anthony, and his friends; Natasha, Janet, Virginia, James, Robert and Clinton, on Anthony’s 11 th Birthday”_ the plaque read in neat engraving. There was a James in that picture, though he couldn’t decide which of the boys it belonged to – the curly-haired brunet with the large glasses and the shy smile? The black kid with short-cut black hair and the air of an older brother? The blond, scruffy-looking kid with a toothy grin? He hoped whichever he shared a name with was cool, that’s for sure – although how cool could any of these people be, if they weren’t here now when Tony clearly needed them?

One of the girls was blushing as she was hugged back – Tony’s arm around her shoulders – with strawberry-blonde hair and a sprinkling of freckles. The other red-head had vibrant hair and pale skin, with hard grey eyes and a smile like a smirk, while the third girl seemed to have launched herself at the group with an energy Bucky could almost _see_ , brown waves flying, manic grin obvious.

In the back of the photo – Bucky only just noticed him now, as he went to turn away – was a man, about Lord Stark’s age, although showing it more with the grey that wasn’t relegated to just his temples and the tired fondness to his smile. He was dressed both more formally and more simply than the rest, in a simple black and white suit. _Like a butler_ , Bucky thought, and the words brought his thoughts screeching to a halt. That was _Edwin_ in the photo, somehow, Bucky just knew – and the people he’d heard Tony talking to earlier-

Something was off.

Bucky turned to leave, feeling like he’d stumbled into something he wasn’t really prepared for, when he noticed a candle holder by the door. He could’ve sworn it wasn’t there when he came in, but chalked it up to being preoccupied by the photo and moved on with his exploration.

 

The sunlight was no longer coming in through the windows, creating a silhouette of the horizon, when Edwin appeared in a mirror to summon him to dinner. Bucky hadn’t given much thought to food – he’d found a library, and promptly lost himself in the towering bookshelves like a kid in a candy store – but now it was mentioned, Bucky found himself _starving_ , and lamenting not bringin the last of his bread and cheese up with him. He had the odd notion that he ought to clean up – an after effect of the slow realisation that Tony was a _Lord_ – but Edwin had mentioned no such idea, so Bucky tugged at the edge of his shirt, and went where he was directed.

The dining room was small, by the standards of the rooms Bucky had been exploring, but was still the size of every room in Bucky’s childhood home combined. The table was sized for more than just himself and Tony, even if it was only set for them, and laden with more food than Bucky had seen outside of the feasts the Guard had held on few occasions.

Shoving aside the nausea that came with the stark reminder, Bucky moved to take a seat, just as the door behind him creaked slightly. Bucky turned, but no one had come inside. He frowned, but tried not to think too hard on it, and took a seat at one end of the table. The food looked simply divine, and he longed to tuck in, but it’d be rude to start without waiting for his host.

It was another ten minutes before Tony swept in, still in his robes with an air of annoyance about him. His steps stuttered as he noticed the table – and Bucky was certain it was the table and not his own presence – but he sighed, and took the seat opposite Bucky. Now that Tony was sat, the other end of the table didn’t seem so far away. Bucky smiled when Tony caught his gaze, and the knot in Bucky’s chest loosened a little when Tony returned it.

“So, how do you like the house so far?” Tony asked, pulling a plate of mashed potatoes towards himself– which Bucky took as his cue to start piling his plate– and watching him intently.

“It’s-“ Bucky began, and paused, not sure whether to be honest or not. “It’s nice.” He finished lamely, and Tony merely raised an eyebrow at him, as he exchanged one plate for another. “It’s beautifully built.” Bucky tried, and Tony laughed softly, not entirely from humour.

“But it lacks a personal touch?” Tony asked, and the knot in Bucky’s chest twisted right back up again at the sadness behind the smile Tony had. Bucky accepted the plate Tony offered him – not entirely sure of what it contained, but happy to try anything – and nodded after a moment.

“You said it, not me.” Bucky quipped, and grinned when Tony laughed, a genuine one this time. “I like it though. My room’s the size of the downstairs of my Ma’s old place.” Bucky told him, organising a forkful of the dish Tony had handed.

“Is- is she still around?” Tony asked, forcibly off-hand, and Bucky just gave him a sad smile.

“Not for a few years.” Bucky told him, and Tony made a small noise of understanding. “I’ve got my friend and his mother, back in the city.” He said it by way of an offer, a topic of conversation, but Tony didn’t take it. He ate quietly with a thoughtful look on his face, watching Bucky like he was reading a particularly interesting book, occasionally gesturing for Bucky to try a particular dish. The evening remained a quiet affair, until more of the food had been eaten than Bucky had assumed they’d manage, and Tony wished him a quiet good night, before leaving in much the same brisk manner he’d arrived.

 

It seemed to take a few days for Tony to get used to Bucky’s presence. Bucky found the kitchen on his first morning, and- to Edwin’s amusement- proceeded to make breakfast for both himself and Tony. Tony never questioned it when he took the food to the workshop, like he’d forgotten already that Bucky must’ve done it one-handed.

Something of a routine sprung up within the first two days: he’d wake up confused, heart racing, to Edwin wishing him a good morning. He’d dress – outfit miraculously clean and folded on the chair at the foot of the bed, thankfully still very much his own – and clean himself up before wandering down to the kitchen. He’d spend the morning watching Tony putter about the workshop, and then find himself in the library after lunchtime. He’d leave for dinner, and then find himself there again until the wee hours of the morning, when Edwin would attempt to nudge him to bed.

Dinner after that first night was both less and more – less in terms of food, though Bucky much preferred it, and more in terms of talking. Tony never fucking _shut up_ , and Bucky thought it was great. He’d found that out by asking about the book collection, clarification for some of the terms he’d come across that afternoon, and it was like watching Tony come to life, with the energy that the 19-year-old should have. _He lives to learn and teach in turn,_ Bucky had thought more than once.

He’d been here six full days now, and this was the fourth evening in a row that Tony had sat next to Bucky at the table instead of across from him, plates pushed to the side and pad between them as Tony doodled explanations out, smudges in places from his enthusiastic gestures. Bucky had taken to purposefully going looking for questions, so that he could watch Tony light up like this in an evening. There were moments though, that Tony closed off, and it had taken Bucky until now to realise – someone had been cruel to Tony because of this. Had laughed him off, or begged out of listening to him talk his way through science, history, magic and philosophy alike, as if they were tales as exciting as those him and Stevie read as kids. In many ways they _were_ , because Tony was the one telling him.

Tony, who closed off randomly because someone had taught him not to let people in, who’d lost his family younger than anyone ever should, who’s friends were gone (by what Bucky was starting to think were circumstances beyond Tony’s control): who, more than anything, seemed to want a home, a family.

Bucky had a new mission in life.

He spent the rest of the meal buzzing, and when Tony eventually decided to take his leave, leaving the notepad with Bucky, Bucky decided to forgo his evening in the library. Instead he raced back to his room, and carefully tucked the pad into the drawer of his bedside table.

“Edwin?” he asked the empty room, and sure enough, the butler appeared in the mirror.

“Good evening, James,” Bucky had given up trying to get him to call him by the nickname, “can I help you?”

“Yeah, I was wondering – where does Tony keep gardening stuff?” Bucky asked, as he scrabbled around the desk for the bits of paper and the odd envelope he’d brought with him. He didn’t see Edwin’s reaction to his words, but his voice betrayed his confusion clearly enough.

“The tools the former gardener, Mr Hogan, used to use are still in the shed, but why-?” Bucky turned to him when he’d dug out the envelope he’d been looking for.

“I-“ Bucky began, before realising he was unsure how to explain his sudden, burning desire, to give the genius hidden away in his workshop, a reason to call the mansion home again. “I saw the photo.” He settled on, and the way Edwin’s face fell let Bucky know he knew exactly which photo Bucky meant.  “I want- I’m gonna fix it. That sad look in his eyes.” Bucky swallowed, not quite able to meet Edwin’s gaze.

“How do you plan to do that?” Edwin asked him, a hint of a warning in his tone.

“I’m gonna tidy the garden. Ask Steve to send me some of his drawings that I can fill the old frames with. I’m gonna be around. I- I’m gonna give the place the same life Tony has.” Edwin’s face softened, and he smiled at Bucky. “You think I can use some of those tools one handed?”


	3. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets a 'hand' with the gardening...

magic /ˈmadʒɪk/

_noun_

‘the power of apparently influencing events by using mysterious or supernatural forces’, ‘a quality of being beautiful and delightful in a way that seems remote from daily life’ or ‘exceptional skill or talent’

_-_

 

Bucky had gone down to the village the very next day after breakfast, reaching the main street just as the Sunday morning service let out at the church. He’d told no tales, however much people asked him; simply sent his letter to Steve, and another, a second thought, to Stevie’s Ma asking if she’d allow him a copy of her baking recipes to try. He’d bought a couple of new shirts, too, and a pair of gloves that – when Tony eventually made him the promised arm – would come in handy. It’d been the last of his money, but Bucky wasn’t worried about spending it, what with the overly-generous contract he’d signed.

The walk back up had been easier for a second time, and Bucky deposited his new shirts in his room, before heading back outside in the crisp fall air. It was pleasantly warm, so Bucky folded up his coat on the steps, and set off into the garden to find the shed. It was a battle to get through the growth in some places, but Bucky found the shed easy enough once he made it around the side of the mansion, in a far corner. The door hadn’t been locked, but the hinges were rusted, and Bucky took a shoulder to door hoping the same wouldn’t be said for the tools inside.

Thankfully, the inside of the shed was well kept, aside from the occasional spider nestled in its web. The tools were by no means in perfect condition, but they weren’t rusted, and the only challenge it seemed Bucky was going to have was using them one-handed. With the sheer volume of growth that needed cutting back, he couldn’t afford to use a smaller tool, but to lift one of the large ones would be hard enough. He found a plan of the garden on his search of the shed, and lacking the answer to his problem, took it back with him into the house, careful to knock the dirt off his boots first.

He spread it out on the table he frequented in the library, Edwin appearing in the mirror nearby as he did but saying nothing. “What d’you think, Edwin? Think I can have it flowering by spring?” he asked, not quite as optimistic as he’d been the day before, as he held the plans up for the man to see. Edwin gave a small chuckle.

“I have no doubts, James. But if you will, Anthony has asked for your presence in the workshop.” Bucky raised an eyebrow at that, but the mirror-butler said nothing further, and Bucky dusted off his shoulder as he made his way down to the workshop. There were no voices as he made his way down to the workshop: indeed, Bucky hadn’t heard those voices since, and he’d been trying not to dwell on the puzzle. He gave a perfunctory knock, before stepping inside, only to be greeted by Tony’s dazzling grin.

“I finished it.” He told Bucky, and upon seeing the confusion on Bucky’s face, made a little _oh_ sound and laughed. “Well, I should start by, I started it, a few days ago, and now I finished it.” Bucky smiled despite still not knowing what Tony was referring to.

“It?” he asked, and Tony stepped aside to show him what lay on the desk.

Bucky’s heart leapt for joy, though his brain couldn’t believe that Tony had managed it in a few days – for there, on the table, expertly crafted and engraved, was a gleaming metal arm. Bucky- to his embarrassment- stumbled over his own feet as he stepped over, desperate to just touch it, feel that it was really real. It wasn’t cold to the touch, and closer Bucky could recognise that several of the symbols Tony had engraved into each joint were the same as some of those on Tony’s robes.

“Tony…” Bucky whispered, looking up at the nervous genius, “it’s beautiful.” He told him. Tony’s face split into a happy grin.

“Well, c’mon then, get your shirt off, I wanna make sure it works like it should!” Tony told him, and Bucky laughed, for the first time giving little thought to his scars as he unravelled the rolled-up sleeve.

“It’s not pretty.” Bucky warned him, but Tony just blew him a kiss that totally didn’t make Bucky’s heart go into overdrive.

“I’m pretty enough for the both of us, stop delaying.” Bucky laughed, and with that, tugged off his shirt.

Tony, to his credit, didn’t stop to stare at the scars littering his chest and the stump of his arm, though his eyes widened a little. He licked his lips, before carefully picking up the arm and coming to stand behind Bucky. “Arms up.” Tony told him, and Bucky did as he was told, but he could feel the tension building, set on edge against his will to have Tony at his back. “You need to relax.” Tony whispered, right by his ear, sending a shiver down Bucky’s spine, but it did the trick. Bucky relaxed, and Tony held the arm up, leaving an inch of space between it and Bucky’s shoulder.

“Is this gonna hurt?” Bucky asked around a swallow.

“Shouldn’t do.” Tony promised, and before Bucky could question that, he let out a long breath and touched the two together.

Pain wasn’t the right word for what Bucky felt then. The point of contact felt like it was burning, and Bucky tensed right back up, his back going rigid as the symbols on the arm glowed an icy blue, but it wasn’t pain. It was like an overload of sensation, pins and needles across his entire upper body and, importantly, ricocheting up and down his left arm like it was there. Plates unfolded themselves from the arm, resting tightly but not uncomfortably so across his shoulder, back and chest. Tony let go of the arm, and for an alarming moment Bucky was convinced it was going to fall and break and undo all of Tony’s hard work, but- it held up. It stayed there, as if it were a part of Bucky, and Bucky holding up his arm was all that was keeping it there. The sheer will it took just to _try_ and flex his fingers was astounding, but Tony was quietly patient, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Bucky stared at his fingers and thought to himself _do it, move!_

Bucky could’ve cried when his fingers curled, without a delay, and he immediately bent the arm, stood up to swing it round and realised it had the same full range of movement. He whirled on Tony, who looked utterly delighted, and swept him up into a massive hug. Tony froze in for a moment, before he hugged back. “You’re welcome.” He muttered around laughter, and Bucky could only grin.

“You have no idea how much this means to me. _Thank you_ isn’t enough.”

 

They ate lunch together for the first time that day. Bucky grasped Tony around the wrist left-handed and tugged him up to the kitchen, where they chatted about Tony’s work as Bucky made them sandwiches, and then Tony retreated back to his workshop with a “see you for dinner”. Bucky was a little confused by it, but figured that pushing boundaries wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He returned it with an _“I look forward to it”_ and as soon as Tony’s footsteps died away, Bucky ran back up to his room, snagged his new gloves and forwent his coat, and made his way down to the front doors, intent on starting work in the garden. He paused by the doorway, considering if he should find a small mirror to carry with him, in case Edwin needed to summon him, but he passed it off.

He stood in the shed for a moment, surveying his choices, before selecting the large scythe from the back wall, and setting off to work. He began by the gate, on the western side of the path. It was hard work – he was soon sweating and had discarded his shirt on the steps, but by the time dark was beginning to fall, he was most of the way round the side of the house, back towards the shed. It was _magical_ , how easily he settled into the new arm, it’s slightly extra strength. He knew it wasn’t going to always be this easy, but he couldn’t- wouldn’t- complain. After so long, to be able to reach for something left handed and then not fall over because he’d forgotten for a moment, was worth every momentary struggle he’d get.

He wiped away the sweat from his forehead on the back of the cool metal, and observed his few hours work. He found several large sacks in the shed, and quickly cleared away the worst of the cuttings – the cut wasn’t neat by any means, but he could rectify that later, once the worst of it was cut away. He shut up the shed, left the bag-and-a-half of trimmings by the door, and slung his shirt over shoulder as he headed back inside. He removed his boots on the door mat, and carried them with him the rest of the way back inside. Edwin was waiting for him in the mirror by his door, and smiled at the site of him.

“Good afternoon, I see.” He observed, and Bucky grinned at him.

“I’m going to have that garden ready for spring, I just _know it_.” Bucky told him, and Edwin was smiling back at him. “I haven’t missed dinner, have I?” he asked, pulling on a cleaner shirt, and selecting out some trousers that didn’t have grass stains in the knees.

“You have not. I was just about to start worrying that you might, however.” Bucky laughed quietly. Bucky changed his trousers, dusted the mud off his boots, and headed down to join Tony for dinner – the pad back in hand and the questions he’d found in his book last night tucked under his arm.


	4. Unique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little slice of happiness for our boys...

unique /juːˈniːk/

_adjective_

‘being the only one of its kind; unlike anything else’ or ‘particularly remarkable, special, or unusual’

_-_

 

With the arm now on and functioning, Bucky’s little self-made timetable changed again. He rose even earlier, giddy to start the day while he had more energy than he could remember, the nightmares for once at bay. It didn’t matter so much, either, for even when Bucky immediately dressed and made breakfast to take down to Tony, Tony was always in the lab, already at work. Bucky still spent his mornings with Tony, but there was little observing in what he did now. Tony had thrown him in the deep end, and Bucky _loved_ it. No more was he delegated to the couch to nod and listen – he was hands in, opinions matter, _I hope you remember that because I don’t know what we just did but I think it worked and it’s only science if one of us writes it down_.

They chattered as they worked, in between brewing and building and testing. Tony was opening up, bit by bit, although it was very much a case of ‘ask no questions and be told no lies’, so Bucky listened and listened and stored away what he could. It often seemed that Tony was doing the same thing, but Bucky wasn’t willing to get his hopes up.

Lunch in the timetable was often forgone, with Tony having snacks stashed down in the workshop, and- when they finished with daylight left to them- Bucky grabbed an apple from the kitchen on his way into the garden. Bucky had the grass cut within several days, but the flower beds were a different battle entirely. Tony actually came to find him, the second day he was attempting to fight them, laughing at him almost elbows deep in dirt as he tried to weed out every last scrap of other-plants.

“You’re such a punk.” Bucky said, reaching out to shove him, but Tony danced out of the way, still grinning.

“Why are you even bothering?” Tony asked, and Bucky took a deep breath so that when answered, he wouldn’t snap. He even briefly considered making something up, but Tony was honestly just curious, no sense of mocking or anger there in his question.

“I figured the garden was a good place to start.” Bucky told him, sitting back on his heels and brushing the worst of the dirt off his gloves. He flicked a bit off one of the plates. “Man, am I glad this is waterproof…” he muttered, and a smile flickered on Tony’s face, but he was frowning deeply.

“Start?” he asked, when Bucky raised an eyebrow at him in prompt. Bucky shrugged.

“Putting some life back into this place for ya.” He admitted, and Tony’s face went through a series of emotions – shock and loss being prominent among them – before settling on a happy smile with tears in his eyes. He suddenly looked massively unsure of himself.

“You- do that.” He said. “Uh- I was hoping you’d be able to give me a hand with something before dinner?” he asked, like Bucky could, or would, ever tell him no. “But if you’re busy-“

Bucky waved him off. “I always got time for you, doll.” Bucky nearly regretted the automatic (and genuine) flirt but Tony relaxed into a grin – and it wouldn’t be til later Bucky realised it was because he hadn’t referenced it being in his contract to do so. Bucky left his gloves by the flower bed, and followed Tony inside.

 

The first gift was waiting for Bucky on his bed that evening. Tony had needed help building- well, Bucky honestly wasn’t quite sure what it was. Tony called it a gauntlet, but it was like no gauntlet Bucky had ever seen as he held little bits in place, for Tony to secure together. Tony had finished piecing it together, they’d eaten dinner, talking animatedly, and Bucky had gone to the library, to read another chapter of the book he’d started before his arm had been built.

It was a small, folded piece of card, and Bucky had frowned at it for a moment, before realising that it was a spell – albeit it a simple one – that would help speed up the process of de-weeding the garden. Bucky had smiled to himself, warmth growing in his chest at the thought of Tony’s kindness, and gone to sleep dreaming that it meant something.

It wasn’t a one-time thing. Each night Bucky returned to his room there was something waiting for him – he’d had a book on Wakandan culture that second night. It was clearly one of Tony’s, the page corners thumbed and dog-eared, with little notes in the margins of the chapters about their magic and technology, and answered the questions Bucky had been asking earlier, muttered to himself as he’d been reading. Soon, the days were too cold for Bucky to work, and he’d – once he’d discovered that the postman did still deliver letters up here – decided not to visit the village except for when they needed more food. It was early November, and Bucky knew, knew he had to do something. Tony had found him the plums he adored, dark chocolate he’d struggled to find even in the city, book after book and spell after spell that, Bucky was mostly certain, were his own creation. The garden was mostly ready for spring; not as much as he had ambitiously hoped, but he’d just have to do better next year, if Tony would still permit him to be here.

The final straw was the cat.

Bucky considered just calling it “Cat” and then belatedly “Stevie”, but the cat was small yet sleek and handsome, almost completely black except for two white paws and a white splotch on his chest. Bucky had found it curled up on his pillow, a note next to it with _all yours_ in Tony’s graceful script, and his heart had just swelled. He’d picked the cat up – receiving one hell of a glare in return, before it clawed its way up his shoulder and settled there, tiny and purring. He’d called it T’Challa, like the Prince from Wakanda – they treasured cats, after all, and Bucky was going to treasure this one.

“Edwin?” Bucky asked after a moment’s deep thought.

“Yes, James?” the mirror-butler replied curiously.

“Is there a gramophone or somethin’ that I can set up in the dining room?” He turned, to find that Edwin was giving a half-smile behind a frown.

“Of course,” he replied, “four rooms down to the right, across the hall.”

“Thanks, Edwin.”

“May I ask why?” Edwin sounded cautious, so Bucky flashed him a smile as he left the room.

“I want to take Tony dancing – but I can’t do that in the village. So I’m gonna bring the dance to him.” Bucky tried to feel the confidence he injected into his voice, and was rewarded with a grin from Edwin for his words.

“I think he’ll like that. Very much.”

 

Bucky put his deep blue Sunday best on for tea that night, nervously flattening the tie every couple of minutes or so. The table had been moved – who or how, Bucky didn’t know – but it was towards one side, the table set for the two of them close together like usual, but instead of the usual meal, there were several smaller sharing dishes. More intimate, Edwin had told him with a wink Bucky had never expected from the fatherly, mirror-trapped man. The gramophone was set up on a small table – both of which Bucky had carried down – and the record Bucky had found was slow and sweet, for the most part, without lyrics, and that was all he needed.

“Uh, Bucky, why-” Tony was speaking even as he walked into the room, not looking up yet as Bucky turned – and felt his mouth go dry. “-did Jarvis suggest I ‘wear something nice’?” Tony finished his question and looked up, his mouth falling open as he took in the room.

Tony had taken Edwin’s advice and then some, in a suit that was slightly ill-fitted (and still more fitted than Bucky’s was) in a dark grey, with a deep red shirt and a black tie, his tattoos peeking out in tiny swirls along his wrists. He looked _gorgeous_ , his hair tamed more than normal and unusually free of oil. There was still a smear on his cheek, though, just under his ear where he must’ve missed it in the mirror, and Bucky grinned at the sight.

“Bucky?” Tony asked again, swallowing hard and smiling shyly back, “Why…?” He sounded slightly nervous, and Bucky turned to put the needle down on the record, before walking over to Tony. He brushed the oil mark carefully with the metal hand, and then held it out in an offer.

“Dance with me.” He sounded more confident than he felt, and a smile ticked up the corner of Tony’s mouth.

“Are you- you’re serious.” Tony muttered, eyes searching Bucky’s face almost desperately.

“As a heart-attack, darlin.” Bucky promised, and Tony grinned at him, but still he didn’t move. “Please, Tony.”

“I- I don’t really know how to dance.” Tony warned him, but he took Bucky’s hand anyway.

“Then follow my lead.” Bucky told him softly, pulling him closer and holding him steady at the waist. Tony let his other hand rest on Bucky’s shoulder, where Bucky could feel it intrinsically, and loved every second of it.

He started them off through the steps of a slower waltz, watching their feet to make sure he was getting the steps right, but he glanced up and caught the incredibly soft smile on Tony’s face and was unable to look away from those warm eyes again. Following the rhythm of the music, Bucky automatically lead them into a spin. Tony laughed quietly, and they found themselves pressed together much closer than before; the rhythm and the music and the momentum of the steps lead them through. The walls could’ve fallen down around them, and Bucky wouldn’t notice anything but the way Tony was smiling at him, laughing and young and alive like he should always seem, with a spark in his eye like he’d thought of something worth building.

The music slowed again, and they slipped back into slower steps, though Tony made no move to put the space back between them and Bucky had no wish to prompt him.

“Who taught you to dance?” Tony asked him, grinning.

“My dad… he always used to dance my Ma around the kitchen, tell us all that dancing would get us anywhere if we could do it well.” Bucky huffed a laugh. “Ma always used to tell him she didn’t marry him for his dancing.” Tony was smiling softly at him, and slowly, before the music quite allowed, they came to a stop. The kiss when it came was soft and sweet, hopeful and tentative, and Bucky found himself hoping that it never ended.

 

Bucky had once cursed at the sky, at those cruel ladies of Fate, for robbing him of his arm, of his work and pride and purpose, along with his family. Now, he gave them one quiet thanks, for bringing him to and allowing him this moment of happiness.


	5. Dreadful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finally finds out what happened to those in the photograph...

dreadful /ˈdrɛdfʊl,ˈdrɛdf(ə)l/

_adjective_

‘causing or involving great suffering, fear, or unhappiness; extremely bad or serious’ or ‘used to emphasize the degree to which something is the case, especially something regarded with sadness or disapproval’

_-_

 

It was quickly obvious that happiness was new to the both of them, as November wore on and the garden iced over. Bucky made one last trip to the village – making sure to buy Tony’s present and send his last letters until the snow blew on while he was there – and then they holed themselves up in the mansion. Tony had found a few photos and put them up where Bucky hadn’t had anymore of Steve’s paintings to put up, the curtains had been thrown open in every room, and Bucky had polished every damn mirror he could find.

They spent their afternoons in the library, curled up on one of the couches, fire blazing in the hearth, with T’Challa the cat worshipping it so, each too easily distracted by a brush of fingers or a press of lips to get much done. Bucky eagerly discovered that Tony’s tattoos were a part of his magic, ever changing and enthralling as they crept over the alchemist’s smooth skin.

 _The ground-breaking thing about this happiness_ , Bucky thought, as he watched Tony run his hands through his hair, or bat Bucky’s away from whatever they were working out, or draw Bucky in by a smile and the crook of his finger, _the ground-breaking thing is that it doesn’t feel temporary._ Tony felt it too, Bucky could feel it, he was almost certain, because there were no walls up behind those eyes anymore. Bucky still didn’t ask questions though, trusting Tony to tell him when he was ready and not just willing, and then out bled the tension Bucky hadn’t even known was there until it was gone.

The best moment might have come just before Christmas, when Tony awkwardly tried to give him the bonus written in the contract, and Bucky had handed it right back, before telling him that he wasn’t here for some contract – that Tony could burn the thing. Tony’s surprise had been humbling, and he _had_ burnt it, and his continuing surprise every day when Bucky was still there, Bucky was determined to wipe away.

 

It was just as the snow was melting, mid-February, that things changed.

 

“Excuse me, Bucky?” The voice was light and pleasant, a girl’s and Bucky looked around him in confusion – he was still alone in the library, T’Challa having slunk off, no doubt to find some poor mouse to hunt. “Down here!” the voice called, and Bucky looked down to find the teapot smiling up at him. He blinked, hard, but the teapot seemed to be waiting expectantly for something.

“Oh good, you’re not going to freak out immediately.” It spoke after a moment, hopping backwards a step. “Can you follow Clint, please? You need to be out of sight for a bit.”

“Clint?” Bucky asked, aware his voice came slightly strangled, but he was _talking_ to a _teapot_.

“The bird.” She told him, somewhat between patience and exasperation, and Bucky looked up to find the ceramic bird he’d seen on his first day here all those months ago, perched on one of the tables by the doors, watching him expectantly.

“The- bird. Okay, sure, I’ll follow the living ceramic bird. Wanna tell me why?” Somewhere below them, the front door slammed. Bucky immediately began to head for it, concerned, but the teapot tried to bar his way.

“No!” The teapot hissed, “You mustn’t! Tony’s already going to have his work cut out for him!”

“What’s going on?” Bucky demanded, but let the teapot herd him a few steps down the corridor towards the bird- Clint.

“Oh, I do wish Natasha would hurry up…” She muttered.

“Miss Pot-“ Bucky began, torn between panic and anger.

“Call me Jan.” She cut him off politely.

“Jan, please will you-“ Bucky froze. “Did you say Jan?”

“I did.” She glanced up at him sadly, before continuing her awkward bounce along the corridor.

“As in Janet, from the photo?” Bucky asked, still frozen into place, counting the items versus the people in that photo and coming to an awful, awful conclusion.

“The same, now _please_ Bucky, you must _not be seen!!”_ Jan hissed, and he hastened to follow, her, muttered platitudes under his breath as a candle-stick hoped around the corner.

The three ornament-people ushered him into his own room, as a shout echoed up from somewhere below.  “IT IS NOT YOUR DUTY TO KEEP THIS HOUSE IN WORKING ORDER STARK, IT’S YOUR _JOB_ , TO BUILD ME WHAT I ASK FOR!!”

Bucky sank down by the door, aware he was being watched curiously by the candle-stick and the bird and teapot. There was a timid knocking – like someone was tapping something against the floor – and Bucky got to his feet and opened the door. The shouting that echoed louder now, someone setting out to verbally tear Tony to pieces, was more of a shock than the salt and pepper pots bouncing their way in.

“So you’re all Tony’s friends, huh?” He asked, shakily, and received what could constitute nods from such things. “How-?” he began, gently shutting the door behind him.

“It’s not our place.” The salt pot told him.

“It happened to _you-_ “ Bucky began to protest, but the pepper pot cut him off

“It happened to Tony.” The pepper pot seemed to swallow, a movement of her mouth and rocking momentarily on her base, “We were collateral.”

“Is that your way of telling me to ask Tony?” Bucky asked, sinking down again.

“Only if you won’t leave him because of what he’ll say.” There was no small threat there, and while Bucky doubted what a group of determined ornaments could actually do – while he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t finally lost it – he still felt a slight slither of fear. They’d find a way, he knew.

“If he wants me, I’m here.” Bucky promised. “Who’s downstairs?” he asked, and all of them looked incredibly sad.

“Obadiah…” Bucky frowned – he _knew_ that name, why did he know that name? No one said any more, and Bucky found himself staring up at the ceiling, trying his hardest not to hear the shouting, or the bang, or-

“Bucky?” the teapot, Jan, asked timidly, and Bucky realised his breathing had sped up, coming in shallow, and he made an effort to bring it down before he had a full-blown panic attack.

“Which one of you in Brucie?” he asked, “he wasn’t on the picture, but I heard-“

“Bruce is his middle name.” The pepper pot told him kindly. “He’s Robert, the grandfather clock downstairs.”

“Of course he is.” Bucky muttered, running a hand through his hair. “And Ballerina is…. Miss Candlestick?”

“Natasha. How did you know?” she asked with a hint of amusement.

Bucky shrugged a shoulder. “Elegance, I guess. So that makes you Virginia?” Bucky directed the question at the pepper pot.

“Call me Pepper, please.” She told him, and looked deeply hurt when a burst of semi-hysterical laughter burst from Bucky’s lips. “Don’t laugh!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s not funny at all but…. Jesus, this is a lot.” Bucky sighed, trying to stop laughing before it turned into crying.

“Are you quite alright?” Jan asked quietly, and Bucky couldn’t even look up to reply to her.

“If I didn’t already know what magic and science could do, I’d say I was going crazy.” Bucky whispered, gripping his hair. “God, please don’t let me be going crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

Just then, the door slammed again, and the group was out of his door and down the corridor towards the window overlooking the front gates. Bucky lifted Pepper and the salt pot up before they could ask him, just in time to watch a large, well-dressed, balding man cast a disgusted look at the gardens – thankfully not looking up at the house – and depart. Bucky recognised him somewhere in the back of his head, but there were more important things to worry about now…

“Tony.” Bucky muttered, carefully setting the two down and taking off down towards the workshop. He reached it in record time, and found it locked against him. “Tony?!” He called out, and received no reply. “Tony!” he knocked on the door, hard, and when he listened, he could hear crying from within. “Please doll, just let me in!” Tony still didn’t speak.

The group came down the stairs then – how they didn’t smash, Bucky would later marvel – and hesitated when they saw Bucky sagged against the door. “Go away!” came a quiet but desperate reply. Bucky thought for a moment; to break down the door would be easy, and Edwin would let him in before it came to that, but it would also be a massive breach of Tony’s trust. Tony didn’t want him in there, even if he needed it.

“Not a chance in heaven or hell.” Bucky swore. “I’ll be out here until you’re ready to let me in. No matter how long it takes.” He promised, and sat himself down against the opposite wall. The group came over, and settled themselves into places at his side, and no one said a word as they waited.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  (Have you worked out what trailer I watched the same day I started writing this prompt, yet?)  
> 


	6. Heartache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky finds out Obadiah Stane is a twat. ("Tell us something we don't know!" I hear you cry!)

heartache /ˈhɑːteɪk/

_noun_

‘emotional anguish or grief, typically caused by the loss or absence of someone loved’

_-_

 

Bucky woke up with an aching back and pain dotted around where the plates sat against his shoulder, but it was his own fault for sleeping on the stone floor. He wondered for a moment what had woken him, but there was no sign of the others having come back; the answer came in the form of a sniff, and Bucky scrambled to sit back up.

Tony had finally opened the workshop door, and he was staring down at Bucky like he’d never seen him before, tears still damp on his cheeks. “Were you out here all night?” he asked, and Bucky nodded.

“Like I’d leave you now.” Bucky replied, getting up stiffly, but he waved off Tony’s concern and pulled the younger man into a hug. Tony stiffened, but a few long moments passed before he was clutching tightly at Bucky’s shirt. “It’s alright, doll, I got you.” He promised. “I got you.” He whispered, and Tony buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky suspected he might be crying again, and with no wish to let him go but a need for somewhere more comfortable, Bucky carefully picked the younger man up. Unlike so many times before, Tony didn’t utter a complaint, just clung tightly to Bucky’s neck and curled against his chest as Bucky held him tighter.

A moment’s thought had Bucky leading them to the library – the couches by the fire were large and plush, and would easily fit them both, and Bucky thought that a bedroom setting (while desirable to his back) might leave them both a little too vulnerable for the conversation that needed to happen. The fire was still burning in the hearth, their books and notes still scattered around the tables, but Bucky simply sat down on the couch, and arranged him and Tony so that they were both laid down, Tony still able to hide his face if that was what he wanted, Bucky’s hand drifting lightly up and down Tony’s back.

Just as Bucky thought that Tony was asleep, and that he might just be able to drift off himself in the warmth of the fire and Tony pressed against him, the genius leant up to fold his arms across Bucky’s chest and peer down at him. Bucky reached up to brush Tony’s hair from his face, and received smile for it, but there was no denying the sadness in his eyes. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked quietly, and Tony shrugged a shoulder.

“Do you want to hear it?” he asked after a moment.

“Yes and no.” Bucky replied honestly, “I want you to tell me, but I may not want to hear it. I care about you, though, Tony. Nothing you could tell me will change that, or chase me away.” Bucky told him, and it was like Tony had melted with the way he suddenly relaxed, tension leaking out of him in a way that almost made Bucky smile.

Tony sighed after a long moment, and sat up on the couch, pulling Bucky up with him. He twisted so that he was curled into the corner of it, facing Bucky side-on, and ran a hand tiredly over his face. He suddenly looked worn-down, and much much older than anyone so young as them had the right to – and produced from his pocket a copy of the photo Bucky had found months ago in the study.

“Janet Van Dyne,” Tony began, pointing at the brown-haired girl with the impish smile, “is my adopted sister. Her parents died in an accident when she and I were six, and Dad wasn’t about to let my first friend get carted off to the city when neither she or I – or indeed, her late parents – wanted it. Virginia Potts,” he pointed to the girl with the freckles, “is from the same village as you. Everyone always called her Pepper, and her parents sent her up here to be tutored alongside me and Jan when she was eight and we were nine, because she was just that smart. Her father was a soldier who never came back one day, and when her mother decided to take up a maid’s position in the city, well-paid, Mom and Dad offered to take care of her, until she was of an age that she could join her mother, or secure her own job. Natasha Romanoff,” and of course, this was the red-haired girl, “never knew her parents. They sold her off to the Russian secret service. She ran away young, even she’s not sure _how_ young, and was found by Jarvis – he and Ana were celebrating their anniversary, travelling, and took a shine to her. She’s lived with us since I was eight.”

Tony paused to wipe at his eyes a moment, and Bucky reached out to gently squeeze Tony’s knee. Tony smiled at him, a tiny flicker but still a smile, and Bucky knew it had to be hard to tell him about all of this. Tony now indicated the blond-haired kid, “this is Clint Barton. His father still lives two villages over, and never bothered to come looking for his kid, though Clint took to hiding here for days on end since he was seven, and me and Jane were six. Clint never talked about it, but we knew it wasn’t good. Bruce,” he tapped the face of the curly-haired boy, “Robert Bruce Banner, was the same. Dick Dad, absent Mom, spent his days here. Dad had him tutored with me in everything – he’s better with different Alchemy than me, but still a genius. His Dad _did_ come looking, and Dad told him where to stick his concern.” A tiny, watery laugh then, “Mom was horrified at his use of words, but Bruce was thirteen and we were eleven. Bruce never went home after that, though I’m pretty sure it was Jarvis who legally adopted him.” Tony took a deep breath. “And last, this is James Rhodes. My Rhodey… I’ve known him since I was 3, on our trips to the castle. His papa’s a general, and his mama is an amazing cook. I know they came looking, but I don’t know what they were told – Rhodey had come to visit for my birthday, was staying a week, and then we were taking him back while we visited the castle. Given we never made the trip…” Tony shrugged, and after a moment tucked the photo away again. “They’re now, respectively, a tea pot, a pepper pot, a candelabra, a ceramic bird, a grandfather clock, and a salt pot.

“My Dad was Lord Howard Stark, Alchemist to the King. He was a lord by that King, for his services during the war. Good man, great father, brilliantly talented alchemist. Mom was Lady Maria Stark, Italian, once general assistant to the Queen, and then simply chose to be a stay at home mom after the Queen died. Princess Margaret was four, but everyone understood her decision not to be the person who became her mother-figure. Mom died a few years later, when I was 11. After that… Dad was odd. He still did his best with me, and my friends, but grief changed him, you know? Changed him the way the war should’ve. Mom was his strength, I think. Grief wasn’t what killed him though.” Tony paused, and looked up at Bucky with a surprisingly blank gaze. “What do you know about Obadiah Stane?” he asked, and Bucky realised where Tony was going, in part, with his tale. Realised now that not only did he know the name Obadiah – but he’d _met_ the man.

“…He’s the current Alchemist. Not fond of the Guard, if he has the capacity to be fond of anything.” Bucky spoke after a long moment. “Me and Stevie met him a few times, and neither of us liked him much.” Bucky swallowed. “Why?”

“Stane was originally my Dad’s advisor. Shouldn’t have had a job, once the war was over, but Dad kept him around. They were supposed to be friends. A few days before my 13th birthday, he comes to the mansion, says he’s sorry to intrude, but he needs to talk to my Dad. Of course, Jarvis lets him in without much fuss – it’s _Uncle Obie_ after all.” Tony spits out the words, and Bucky doesn’t want to hear what happens next any more than he thinks Tony wants to say it- but he needs it, they both do. “Next thing I know, is that my Dad’s lying on the floor of his study, and Obadiah’s complaining how ‘me and the misfits’ will only get in the way, but he can’t- can’t kill us all.” Tony swallowed, and this time Bucky reached out to tug him closer, and Tony came willingly enough to curl up against Bucky’s side. He didn’t speak for a few minutes, and Bucky suspects that he’s crying – Bucky’s certain that if he touches his own cheeks now, he’ll find them wet. “He cursed us.” Tony muttered eventually.

Bucky had guessed that, somewhere deep down, but to hear it makes him furious in ways he hadn’t known he _could_ be. “I’m so sorry, Tony.”

“I can’t leave the grounds, except for one night a month. I can’t- I can’t invite people into my h-home and yet-“ Tony wiped at his eyes, hastily. “Yet to break this stupid fucking curse, I’m supposed to find ‘ _true love’_ by the day I turn twenty-one, like this is some fucking fairy-tale.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“…they become antiques. I don’t get them back, not ever. I can’t leave the grounds again, ever. I’ll… I’ll lose everything, simple as. And Obadiah finally gets his wish.”


	7. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then there was that happy ending I promised...

love /lʌv/

_noun_

‘a strong feeling of affection for someone’, ‘a person or thing that one loves’ or ‘a great interest and pleasure in something’

_-_

 

The next few days were rough. Neither of them managed to sleep through the night, Bucky up worrying about Tony and Tony waking up yelling in his sleep. Bucky tended to curl up around Tony when that happened and attempt to soothe him back to sleep, but often they ended up awake and talking quietly about anything that wasn’t directly related to them or the future. Bucky had since been introduced properly to Tony’s friend, and it was easy to get used to having them all around in the library or the workshop, chattering away. As the workshop grew colder, Bruce allowed them to move him up into the library where they spent all their time, and yet… their days suddenly felt numbered.

 

“James, may I enquire as to what you’re doing?”

Bucky had been pacing up and down his room for near two hours when Edwin interrupted. He stopped muttering to himself, and when he turned towards the mirror, he found that Natasha, Rhodey and Pepper were there too. He stalled, wondering how much they’d deciphered of his muttering – Natasha looked too smug, Pepper too pleased, for them to have missed what he said.

“I- I’m trying to work out how to tell Tony.” He said, and Natasha made a ‘go-on’ gesture with one arm, the flame flickering with the movement. “It- it might not be the soul-mate-esque true love the curse asks for, but it’s got to- it’s got to count for something, right?” Pepper smiled at him, whispering ‘of course’, but Bucky ploughed on. “And I know he feels the same.” He insisted fiercely. Rhodey was grinning at him now, bouncing slightly by way of nodding eagerly, but Natasha had her head tilted to one side.

“Then why are you nervous?” she asked, and Bucky sat down with a thump on the edge of his bed.

“Because what if it’s not enough? He’ll lose you guys… because I wasn’t enough.”

“James Barnes, you are more than enough.” Natasha snapped, and Bucky smiled weakly at them, and sat down in front of them so that he was more at their level.

“He’s barely smiled for years, Bucky. You’ve already done so much.” Pepper continued, and Bucky tried to pass over the heart-breaking accidental confession there, but the lump got caught in his throat. It wasn’t quite hope, though that was inevitably what it would lead back into, but currently it was anger and sadness for the ways in which the world, via Obadiah, had completely failed the man he loved.

“So tell him that.” Rhodey spoke quietly, and Bucky hadn’t even realised he’d been muttering any of it aloud. He nodded, suddenly determined and uncaring that he hadn’t yet worked out exactly what he was going to say. His anxiety could fuck itself – Tony was more important, more important than anything.

Bucky found Tony down in his workshop, everyone’s words ringing in his ears. He glanced at Bruce’s empty spot by the wall, and was terribly glad for a moment he’d allowed them to move him up to the library. Tony looked around when Bucky entered, already lighting up – but Bucky wondered what his face must look like, because Tony suddenly looked very worried.

“Bucky? What’s wrong?”

“Tony, I-“ Bucky began, but the words got stuck in his throat. He stepped closer, and Tony was immediately there, one hand in his and the other on his cheek. So much concern there, and Bucky leant forward to kiss him, keeping it chaste so as to not be distracted. “There’s nothing wrong.” Bucky assured him when he pulled back.

“Then why do you look so worried?” Tony asked, brushing his thumb across Bucky’s cheek, searching his face like it would give him the answers of the universe: and perhaps it might.

“I- Tony- what I mean to say is-“

“James?” Tony asked softly, and his first name on Tony’s lips was all he needed: because Tony made him like it.

“I love you. It’s been mere months but I love you, like I’ve never loved anything or anyone in my life.” Bucky spoke confidently but quietly, Tony’s eyes going a little wider with each word.

“You mean it.” He whispered, now cupping Bucky’s face in both hands, and Bucky brought his hands up to rest on his wrists, gripping lightly.

“Yeah, yeah I mean it. I love you, Anthony Edward Stark, every little infuriating bit.” Tony laughed, and dragged him down into a kiss.

“I love you too.” He whispered, grinning madly against Bucky’s lips, but before they could go back to kissing there was a quick series of loud bangs, and Bucky was jumping back in shock, but Tony was staring at the doorway. “No way…” he whispered, grinning growing as there were several sets of running feet on the landing above, and Tony was running too, tugging Bucky after him, making it up into the entrance hall as the others – human and older and _laughing_ , crashed into them. Tony was drowned under a pile of hugs, and Bucky was content to stand back and watch as they laughed and cried and clung to each other.

“Get your ass in this hug, James Barnes!” Clint called out, reaching out as if he’d be able to grab Bucky from where he was half-sprawled on the floor. Bucky went as he was summoned, half strangled by Clint, elbowed in the ribs by Natasha and grinned at by a beaming Pepper. Oh, they were different, it was true – Edwin looked to have aged twenty years in eight, Pepper’s freckles were lighter, there were laughter lines and frown lines that hadn’t been there before, and Bruce had a smattering of grey hair from Tony driving him insane – but they were human. Wonderfully, intrinsically alive, all because Bucky loved Tony;

And Tony loved him back.

 

Things changed, after that. Between the group of them, they tidied up the house, restored whatever art and ornaments had been left stashed in the attic now that it was open again, finished Bucky’s very last bit of gardening, and once Bucky had gone down to the village to retrieve adequate clothing for them all, fixed the carriage and hired two of the farmer’s horses to take themselves to the city. It was time for the King to know what his Alchemist truly was.

Their first stop had not been the castle; no, by Tony’s request and to Rhodey’s utter joy, their first stop was to be Rhodey’s parents, in the city. Bucky hung back when they all piled out of the carriage, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Natasha at the back, while Tony and Rhodey stood at the front, Rhodey gripping Tony’s hand painfully hard as Tony reached up and thumped the knocker down, once, twice- and the door was pulled open.

It was immediately obvious that the woman standing there was Mama Rhodes – not just for her resemblance to Rhodey in the kindness and eyes that they shared, but the way she recognised them immediately and burst into tears at the sight. The group of them were ushered inside, the horses led around to the back of the house, and their story was told, Rhodey clutching at his younger sisters the entirety of their stay. Mama Rhodes – and she would not be called anything else – cooked for them all that evening, talking quietly away to Edwin, and it was agreed just before she ushered them all up into rooms that only Bucky and Tony would head to the castle tomorrow.

Oddly, they were greeted with cheering upon entering the castle grounds, and granted immediate audience with the King. Steve, now a Captain, had battled his way through the growing crowds to pull Bucky into a hug, before immediately turning and gifting Tony the same, to his boyfriend’s utter delight. He led them proudly into the throne room; where King Phillips, his daughter Princess Margaret, the advisors Lords Fury and Coulson and the Lady Hill, and the bastard Alchemist were awaiting them. The Princess grinned when she saw them, and Steve introduced them proudly –it looked like a vein might burst in Obadiah’s head, but no one would permit him to speak.

Tony told his story carefully, his voice loud and clear and purposeful, and it did not waver even as their growing audience gasped and jeered and grew in anger at their alchemist. Tony’s hand never left Bucky’s, and at the introduction to Bucky in the story, the King began to smile – as did Lord Coulson and the Princess – and Tony began to relax. He finished, and there was a smattering of awing and applause, before Phillips raised his hand for silence: and still Obadiah could not speak.

“Captain Rogers,” the King began, “I trust that you and your guard are capable of arresting our treacherous former alchemist and seeing to it that I never have to see his face again?” he asked, and Tony nearly stumbled into Bucky’s side, turning to grin up at him.

“With pleasure, your Majesty.” Steve told him, and with a quick nod, Lady Hill, a woman with bright blonde hair and a dark-skinned man with kind eyes and wrenched Obadiah to his feet and were leading him, disgraced, from the hall to the cheering of the crowd. He fought them with all his might, but they held him between them, though they came to a stop close-by. Too close, but before Bucky could tug Tony backwards, he’d stepped forward and punched Obadiah on the nose with a most satisfying crunch.

“ _That was for my father_.” He hissed, and the shock of the blow was enough that Obadiah no longer fought his way out.

 

Tony was offered the position of Court Alchemist without question, and told to sleep on the idea. That night, Steve, a disguised Princess ‘please call me Peggy’ and Steve’s most trusted friends, Sam and Carol, joined them for dinner at the Rhodes’. Bucky hadn’t laughed like that for years – and it seemed that _none_ of them had, as stories were told and swapped and shared, food eaten and traded, hands grasped and hugs had. Edwin and Mama Rhodes seemed content to sit back and watch it all unfold, T’Challa the cat curled up on Mama Rhodes’ lap – but Bucky couldn’t help but raise his glass to Edwin when no one was paying him much attention and thank him.

He simply received a thank you in return, and a kiss to his cheek from Tony.

It quietened down not long after they’d all attempted to help clear up and wash up, and Peggy turned to where Tony and Bucky had curled themselves up into an armchair. “So how about it?” she asked, smiling. “I’d love to add your appointment to the announcement to be made tomorrow.”

Tony nodded, slowly, but didn’t seem ready to answer yet. “What announcement would that be?” Bucky asked after a moment of silence, and Peggy frowned at him.

“Did Steve not tell you?” she asked, and Bucky saw Steve freeze – no, Steve hadn’t and it must’ve been obvious on his face because Peggy grinned, and as nonchalantly as she could, told him; “Steve and I are engaged.”

The room exploded into chaos again – only Sam and Carol had known, and Bucky wondered if he fell asleep laughing.

 

The next morning, Tony was appointed Alchemist, and all of them, including the Rhodes’ family as a unit, were offered precious quarters at the castle. It would be a busy and hectic life in the castle, sure; but surrounded by people he loves, with the eventual title of ‘Lord James Stark-Barnes, assistant to the Alchemist, Lord Anthony Stark-Barnes’, it couldn’t have been better suited to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! Feedback would be greatly appreciated, what with this being my longest published work - and again, as always, please please check out the blog [imaginetonyandbucky](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/)!! Everyone who writes over there does a wonderful job, and deserve your love and attention!

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to give me a prompt, send me an ask at my **[tumblr](http://thecitylightshow.tumblr.com/)** , I've a couple in the works, but I'll get to it soon! IF you just want to come chat, again, hit me up. And of course, please check out the blog, [imaginetonyandbucky](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/), there's some absolutely beautiful pieces of work over there that deserve everyone's support! Tisfan's _Helping Hands_ is a personal favourite at the moment - that updates Sundays, so give it a look!!


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